


slow dancing in the dark

by meloncholy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Songfic, anxious yuuri katsuki, breaking up, nonlinear storytelling, they’re both fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloncholy/pseuds/meloncholy
Summary: Yuuri hasn’t seen Victor in a year. He hasn’t heard of Victor, thought of Victor, or missed Victor in a year.These are the lies he tells himself.





	slow dancing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> songfic -  
> [slow dancing in the dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3Qzzggn--s) \- joji

Waiting for you (all night)  
I'm done fighting all night (waiting for you)

It’s their anniversary. Three years. Yuuri sits at the kitchen table, illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of his phone.

_[4:16pm]_  
>Yuuri: I made the reservation, 8pm  
>Victor: I’ll be home at 7  
>Victor: I love you <3  
>Yuuri: I can’t wait to see you  
[7:49pm]  
>Yuuri: Where are you?  
>We’re going to be late for our reservation  
[8:12pm]  
>Yuuri: Victor, call me, I’m worried  
[9:00pm]  
>Yuuri: Victor, are you okay? Did something happen? Call me.  
[10:54pm]  
>Yuuri: Victor?

The clock in their kitchen ticks one.

He doesn’t realize he was crying until a drop of water landed on his phone. By now, he’s sure Victor wasn’t involved in some horrible, life threatening accident.

No, he’s just been stood up.

He can’t help but think of their past anniversaries. 

On their first anniversary, he’d woken up alone and nervous. They’d fallen into an easy rhythm since they’d moved in together, but Yuuri still had his moments of doubt here and there. That doubt instantly dissipated once Victor had traipsed into the bedroom with that heart shaped grin of his and a platter of pancakes, fruit, and orange juice, an enormous bouquet of beautiful blue roses tucked under his arm. 

Their second anniversary, they’d woken up entangled with each other and stayed that way for hours, exploring every inch of each other’s bodies as if they hadn’t already a thousand times over. Lips breathed over skin, hair lovingly caressed, names moaned in pleasure. They neglected practice that day, giving themselves a rare break to enjoy the other’s presence.

Today, Yuuri woke up alone again. It was different than that morning two years ago. The atmosphere in the apartment was chilly, showing no signs of life other than himself, and to prove it, there was no smiling Victor bursting into the room with a lovingly prepared breakfast in bed. But he was used to it by now. Used to the empty spot on the bed beside him, cool to the touch, as if left that way hours ago. Used to seeing Victor at the rink instead of waking up next to him. Used to the cool look and fake smiles his husband gave him—and all the reporters.

Still, they’d agreed to celebrate tonight, with something more lowkey. Dinner at their favorite restaurant. Except apparently, Victor couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

Twisting the gold band on his right ring finger, Yuuri doesn’t even realize he was doing it until he glances down, such a habit at this point. Even the gold seems to have lost its shine.

The doorknob rattles with the telltale signs of someone trying to open the door but being too drunk off their ass to fit the keys in. After a few seconds, the door swings open, revealing a very disheveled Victor. 

His usually lustrous hair is matted with dried sweat, his once-pristine white dress shirt crooked and stained, tie nowhere to be found, and eyes were dull and glassy. The stench of alcohol rolls off him in waves.

”Y-Yuuri...” Victor slurrs brokenly, swaying as he toed off his shoes and stumbled towards the table where Yuuri sat.

Shoving the chair away with a screech against the linoleum tiles, Yuuri stands unevenly, and turns away, towards the bedroom.

He’s determined not to show Victor his tears, his puffy eyes, doesn’t want him to see what he did to him, when he clearly doesn’t care about Yuuri at all.

He tries to let his eyes drift shut and sleep take him, but sleep does not come easy that night. If he feels the dip of someone getting in bed beside him minutes later, he doesn’t show it.

 

 

 

_When I'm around slow dancing in the dark  
Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms_

_Yuuri finishes up the last of the dishes when he hears_ _the front door creak open, accompanied by Makkachin’s signature woof, and Victor’s cheerful “I’m home!”._

_A pair of arms wrap around his middle from behind. He dries his hands and clasps Victor’s own, where they rest on his stomach. He tries to hide the lovesick grin that emerges on his face, but Victor kisses it off his face anyway._

_”Did you miss me?” Victor whispers in his_ _ear._

_“Victor, you were only gone twenty minutes,” Yuuri replies fondly, all too familiar with this conversation._

_”I missed you”, though he’s facing away from him, Yuuri can hear Victor’s pout perfectly._

_Spinning around in his arms, Yuuri leans up for a kiss and lets himself melt in it._

_The kiss doesn’t turn heated. Instead, Victor grabs his hands and settles them in a dancing position, one hand on Yuuri’s waist and the other clasping Yuuri’s hand._

_Rolling his eyes, Yuuri indulges without the slightest hesitation or reluctance and begins to move in tandem with Victor._

_In that moment, Yuuri’s never been more sure that they were meant for each other. He knows their hearts match and now so do their bodies, slotting together and swirling around the kitchen in perfect coordination._

_He sets his chin on Victor’s shoulder. No music is necessary, they’re making music with their bodies and they can hear it clearly in their heads. It’s only for them._

_Makkachin circles around their feet, nearly causing them to trip, and making Victor lose his footing and lunges forward, bumping foreheads with Yuuri, which sets them off in a fit of giggles, which descends into less dancing and more giggling interrupted by stolen kisses and whispered “I love you’s”._

 

 

 

Give me reasons we should be complete  
You should be with him, I can't compete

Yuuri hasn’t seen Victor in a year. He hasn’t heard of Victor, thought of Victor, or missed Victor in a year.

These are the lies he tells himself.

It’s true, he _hasn’t_  seen Victor in a year. He supposed he would have if he hadn’t quit skating. Or taking a break. Whatever. But he hears of Victor from his monthly meet ups with Chris, he checks all of Victor’s social media accounts religiously, and he keeps up with the news of all Victor’s wins. He thinks of Victor every morning when he wakes up and there isn’t the warm comfort of another body next to him, when he goes grocery shopping, does his taxes, and when he falls asleep at night. He misses Victor with every atom in his body every second of the day.

But now he’s here. Now Victor’s here, looking at Yuuri—rather, looking _through_ Yuuri, like he doesn’t exist. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, if the empty glass in his hand is any indication of his sobriety. 

Beside him, he can hear Phichit’s chattering, until he catches sight of who Yuuri’s staring at. Instantly, his demeanor changes, and he guides Yuuri away, towards the bar, throwing an arm around his shoulder protectively. 

They do shots, and Yuuri feels as numb as ever, though he feels looser now than before. 

“Come on, Yuuri, let’s dance!” Phichit whines, his own inhibitions lowered by the numerous colorful shots he’s downed. 

Yuuri doesn’t want to dance. The club is too crowded with too many sweaty people, all jostling and pushing and shoving. The music is too loud, it’s thumping in his ears and he can feel it in his feet, vibrating through his whole body, making it impossible to think.

Maybe he needs to not think right now.

Throwing back a one last sickly green shot that’s probably radioactive, he relents and lets himself be dragged onto the illuminated dance floor packed with sweating bodies. 

He closes his eyes and throws his arms up, willing himself to let go. He moves in time with the thumping, too-loud music, lets himself feel the music in his bones. Wills himself to feel the music and nothing else.

Until he opens his eyes, finds piercing blue eyes staring at him, and the rush of feelings he’s been trying so hard not to feel hits him like a wave and nearly knocks him over.

Nevertheless, he forces himself to look away and keep dancing, however much he wants to bolt. Phichit would never forgive him if he just left now anyway.

When he’s just as tired physically from the dancing as he is mentally, he stumbles to the bathroom in his drunken stupor, bumping into people and walls.

The sight that greets him wakes him up from the stupor instantly.

Victor. 

On his knees, soiling his no doubt expensive dress pants on the filthy bathroom tiles.

His mouth on another man’s cock, distinct silver head bobbing up and down.

Shameless.

The man is leaning against the wall, eyes closed, one hand lazily combing through Victor’s silver locks.

The mystery man is dark haired and medium height. So this is the type of man Victor wants to be with, who’s so much better than Yuuri.

Neither of them see Yuuri.

He leaves the club, everything else forgotten but the image of Victor on his knees in such an obscene position for someone who isn’t him.

Phichit’ll forgive him. He’ll just buy him another hamster hat.

 

 

 

_You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well  
Can't you see? (Can’t you see?)_

_It happens during sex of all times._

_Victor’s seated all the way inside him, his ankles hooked behind Victor’s shoulders, his own dick leaking all over his stomach and about to let go when he sees the look in Victor’s eye._

_He’s lived with Victor too long by now not to know his different looks._

_And right now, he’s looking like he doesn’t even know who Yuuri is._

_He guesses he shouldn’t even be surprised. Lately, Victor’s been more and more detached. He’s been waking up earlier, training harder, and going out and coming home later and later, reeking of the club. Yuuri worries every time, stays up until Victor stumbles home in the dead of night, or more often, morning. They’ve even been having less sex._

_He’d chalked it up to being the pressure of winning taking its toll; being a living legend is hard, and with rumors of retirement floating around within the skating community, Victor hadn’t been taking it well._

_But he can see it now, it’s not just the stress making Victor this way, It’s_ him.

_That’s why Victor’s looking at him like he’s someone else, like he’d rather be with anyone else than Yuuri right this second._

_Yuuri knows he’s nothing special, knows he’s less experienced, that Victor’s been with better, had better than him before._

_These doubts, these feelings of inadequacy have been washed away over time, but now they come crashing back._

_Victor thrusts once, twice, and turns his head and closes his eyes._

_He doesn’t even want to look at me._

_He’d rather be with someone else._

_He regrets marrying me._

_Yuuri feels a prickle behind his eyes, and squeezes them shut. He won’t cry._

 

 

When you gotta run  
Just hear my voice in you (my voice in you)

Yuuri meets Victor’s eyes across the rink. Or at least he thinks he meets them. He can’t tell too clearly without his glasses. He doesn’t want to see him too clearly anyway. The last time he saw him Victor was on his knees sucking off another man at the club. It hurts to think about, so he doesn’t. Or tries to.

It’s his comeback. He’s taken a year off and he’s back on the ice. _A second_   _debut_ they’dcalled it. He doesn’t feel like he can live up to that expectation.

When they come off the ice from the warm up, Yuuri feels the same nerves that he feels every time before a competition. Except Victor can’t help him now. Celestino’s a great coach. But he’s never really felt that his coaching style was right for him.

He’s going fifth. He’d somehow managed second place in the short yesterday, coming three points behind Victor. He has time to sort out his nerves, he just needs to find somewhere quiet. 

Walking to a secluded hallway, Yuuri stuffs his headphones in his ears before sinking to the floor. Every worry or doubt he’s had about his comeback shows up now, and he hugs his knees to his forehead, shoulders trembling. He feels the tears leak out and hopes no one finds him. 

He feels so, so empty. He’s been training nonstop, pushing himself to the very edge. Every flub, every stumble, is just one that he needs to make up for. He doesn’t take breaks, he doesn’t take off days, he doesn’t make time for himself. And it shows. He made it to second place with his technical score. His PCS, what he’s known for, is lower than its ever been. And he knows. But he can’t help it. He doesn’t feel anything on the ice anymore. He does it out of obligation. To his family, to his fans, to his coach. He does it because he has nothing else to do, nowhere else to go.

His love of skating may have developed out of years of hard work and encouragement from his family and friends, but Victor ignited it. Before Victor, skating was something he enjoyed, sure, but it was a casual hobby. After Victor, he threw himself in it, put in countless hours in the studio perfecting his form, and throwing himself across the ice even after his body was black and blue. He strived to be at the same level as Victor, to skate on the same ice as Victor, and he had done it.

But now it’s gone. He fucked up, and Victor’s gone, and he’s not coming back. So how is he supposed to feel anything on the ice anymore?

His breaths are becoming shallow and his tears are streaming more rapidly. He doesn’t think he can do it. He doesn’t think he can go out on the ice and face all those people, and inevitably let them all down. He wants to run. Run as far as he can. Run home. Run away from this place and this world where the expectations are too much and he doesn’t deserve anyth—

He feels a body sit down next to him, but he’s too wrapped up in his self doubt to look up. He can’t show anyone his shame, his greatest weakness.

But he feels an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close into a comforting warmth, and only then does he look up.

When he does, he sucks in a gasp. 

He’s speechless—breathless, for a moment, and then he springs to his feet, hastily scrubbing his tears away and still at a lost for what to say. 

“Victor...” he breathes out.

”You have to go on soon,” he replies, and it’s true. The fourth contestant is making his way onto the ice now. 

“Good luck,” Victor smiles sadly.

Yuuri tries not to think of that smile as he makes his way to the rink. The breathless panicky feeling that makes him want to bolt isn’t gone, but it’s muffled, and for now, that’s good enough.

He wins gold that day.

 

 

 

_Shutting me out of you (shutting me out of you)  
Doing so great (so great, so great)_

_It’s noon. It’s noon, and Victor’s still in bed. For Yuuri, it’d be normal, but for Victor, Victor who wakes up at six every morning for a jog, it worries Yuuri._

_Biting his lip, Yuuri shuffles back into the bedroom for the third time this morning. They don’t have practice today, so it’s  fine to sleep in, but Victor_ never _sleeps in. Inside the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the bed, where Victor is curled up underneath the blankets._

_“Hey...Vitya...” Yuuri hesitates, shaking Victor’s shoulder gently, “How are you feeling?”_

_An incoherent groan comes from under the mass of blankets._

_”I’ll be here okay, if you want something to eat later, I’ve made some pasta.”_

_Another incoherent groan._

_Yuuri gives up and goes back into the living room to collapse on the couch._

_They’ve been so distant lately. They barely talk anymore. They train, they skate, and they sleep. There’s no time in either of their schedules for the other, or maybe they just haven’t bothered to make time for each other. Yuuri’s doubt about their marriage comes back all the time._

_He knows he’s not good enough for Victor._

_He knows Victor’s out of his league._

_But it doesn’t mean he can’t still try._

_Victor comes out at that moment, and plops down at the kitchen table, still half asleep. Yuuri joins him, smiling nervously, lips twitching. Victor doesn’t return the smile. He doesn’t even seem to notice._

_”What do you want to do today?” Yuuri asks, hesitant. An olive branch. A peace offering. He’s thinking they can do something fun together on their day off, like watch a movie or bake something._

_”I have some things I need to take care of. I’m heading out later,” Victor replies flippantly. He won’t meet Yuuri’s eyes._

_”Oh.” Yuuri not to let on how disappointed he is. It’s fine, Victor has some things he needs to take care of. He’s not a baby, he doesn’t need his husband’s attention all the time. He’s fine._

 

 

 

Used to be the one (used to be the one)   
To hold you when you fall

At the banquet, Yuuri tries to enjoy his win, but how can he when all he wants to do is talk to Victor, and he won’t even look at him?

Yuuri makes small talk with the other skaters and offers his congratulations, he’s polite to all potential sponsors, and he stares at Victor from across the room where he seems to be resolutely avoiding Yuuri. 

Earlier, Yuuri hadn’t really noticed the look in Victor’s eyes, too embarrassed at being caught crying to look in his eyes clearly, and too panicky to figure out what the look meant. But now he sees.

He sees the hollowness in Victor’s eyes, the emptiness that mirrors his own. 

He sees the purple smudges beneath his eyes.

He sees someone who’s not okay. 

_Victor’s not okay._

Yuuri’s heart aches. Victor should never look like that. He should never look so empty, so dejected. 

Deep down, Yuuri knows he’s the cause. He wants to die.

He wants to talk to Victor, wants to talk to him more than anything, but he can’t.

 

 

_I don't fuck with your tone (I don't fuck with your tone)  
I don't wanna go home (I don't wanna go home)_

_“Then tell me what I can do to fix it!” Victor’s hands fly to his silver hair, once so bright, now dulled with the stress and wear of the last few months._

_Yuuri’s trembling—he knows this, he hates himself for being so weak. Victor’s voice is grating tonight, and he doesn’t think he can take anymore. “I shouldn’t have to tell you!”_

_He knows he’s being unreasonable. He can’t help it. Neither of them are thinking straight, drunk off their frustration and the cheap vodka they downed at the club instead of talking. What are they arguing about again?_

_Yuuri misses the days when Victor’s eyes held nothing but love and longing—all for him. Now when he looks, those ocean eyes are livid with resentment and rage. The once tranquil waves turned stormy all too quickly._

_“Fuck, I can’t read your mind, Yuuri,” Victor huffs out with an irritated imitation of a laugh. His face shutters even more, and Yuuri thinks he feels his heart break._

_“I’m going for a walk,” Victor says without looking at him. “Don’t wait up.”_

_“Vitya—“ but he’s gone._

_Without Victor around to ground him, there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. His lungs are on fire, desperately trying in vain to get a breath of air. There are spots in his vision, and Yuuri crumples to the ground. He hasn’t had to handle an anxiety attack without Victor for a long time, and he doesn’t know how long he lies on the floor before he comes to. The haze in his mind from the alcohol is gone, and now all that’s left is the cold reality of what he’s done._

_The apartment is so empty. Yuuri takes his coat and he’s gone too._

_He doesn’t want to come home—or whatever it is now—for a long time._

_So he doesn’t._

 

 

 

I don't wanna slow dance (I don't want to slow dance)  
In the dark

He doesn’t talk to Victor at the banquet. He drinks enough champagne to rival himself at the Sochi banquet, but he doesn’t pole dance this time and he doesn’t talk to Victor this time. He drinks enough to drown himself. He wishes it did.

Yuuri staggers out of the elevator, prepared to barrel into his room and melt into the bed until his flight tomorrow afternoon.

He is _not_  prepared to see Victor sitting on the floor outside his hotel room, hugging his knees to his head in a perfect mimicry of Yuuri before his free skate earlier today. Was it today? It feels like an eon ago. He looks small and scared, and so, so, vulnerable, curled up into himself sitting in the hotel hallway. And like Victor did for him, Yuuri drops down beside him and hugs Victor to his chest. 

He doesn’t ask how Victor knows his room number, and he doesn’t ask what he’s doing here.

Instead, he lets Victor cry into his chest and hugs him tighter.

After it seems like Victor is spent, Yuuri coaxes the both of them up and unlocks his hotel room with one hand while keeping the other firmly around Victor, afraid to let go for the second time.

He shuffled them into the room and lets Victor cling on to him. He doesn’t bother turning on the light.

He doesn’t realize what Victor’s doing until he feels the other man swaying gently to a phantom tune. He feels a hand on his waist and the other firmly around his own hand. Understanding dawning on him, he lets himself be held as much as he’s holding on, and buries his face in Victor’s neck as he sways in sync with him.


End file.
